


Any Man of Mine

by Another Wayward Cowgirl (viajeramyra)



Series: Las trepidantes aventuras del motorista y el vaquero [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bartender Cobb Vanth, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Family Fluff, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Romantic Fluff, Single Dad Din Djarin, honky tonk bar, san antonio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28384683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viajeramyra/pseuds/Another%20Wayward%20Cowgirl
Summary: “What’s your name?”“I have a kid.”“You wanna try that one again? I’m pretty sure that ain’t a name.” He folded his arms over his chest, the unimpressed tilt of his head the man’s best effort at a playful scolding.---Single dad Din Djarin, having been required to join his friends for a night at the bar, never anticipated spending the evening with the bartender instead.Modern DinCobb AU.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda & Cobb Vanth, Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Series: Las trepidantes aventuras del motorista y el vaquero [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078901
Comments: 46
Kudos: 222





	1. Mos Pelgo Cantina

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cacilie_Blaas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cacilie_Blaas/gifts), [Hello_Th3r33](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Hello_Th3r33).



> After such a warm welcome into the DinCobb fandom/nation on Twitter and Tumblr, I happily put on my blue light glasses and started a little AU for them. 
> 
> I really love these two! It has been a lot of fun the past few days getting to know their characters and trying to build something in a modern setting. I have a lot of ideas but no plot, so I decided I would create a few little ficlets and post them in a master collection instead. 
> 
> This one starts the night of Christmas and ends New Year's. I hope to have all three chapters up before 5 January, so it won't be a long wait. <3
> 
> Myra x

With his knees propped up on the ottoman, back resting against the padded cushion of the rocking chair, Din moved Grogu from sleeping on his shoulders to against his thigh. He chuckled, unable to keep the pure joy from revealing itself to everyone still in the room. Grogu’s little hand fisted around one of his stuffed frog’s legs, _thankfully_ not the one he insisted on stuffing in his mouth when no one was looking. Fennec and Koska moved around his kitchen, finishing off the rest of the assorted dinner items, while Boba sat at the island, hunched as he mindlessly watched the others. Peli snored into the sofa cushion, eyes shielded from the pale lights of the room. Christmas was drawing to an end and for once, Din would admit he wasn’t ready for the holidays to be over. In forty-five years, this would certainly be the best one he’d had yet.  
  
His fingers grazed Grogu’s scalp, twirling around some of the tight blonde curls. His normal routine would have him turn on the kettle for tea and perhaps put on a movie while he waited for his thoughts to relax enough for sleep. Greef and Cara departed hours ago after dinner and he’d assumed the rest would follow suit. Yet, they all lingered in his house, picking off the rest of the food and drink after finishing their final game of cards. His mouth had twitched a number of times, tempted to encourage everyone apart from the sleeping Peli to head home for the night. His judgment decided against it, allowing them to take their time to vacate. At least they kept their voices lowered, allowing him to keep Grogu close until he was ready to tuck his son into bed. Unless they became rowdy and restless, he didn’t see the need to abruptly ask them to leave.  
  
A little tap on his shoulder broke Din from his thoughts, but it took a moment to divert his attention as requested. When he looked to his right, Koska was squatted next to his chair, wide eyes playful with mirth. She batted her eyelashes at him and his head knocked against the back of the chair, trying to ignore her. Her finger slipped through the gaps of the chair, tapping on his hand, increasing the speed with every nudge. His shoulders fell, mentally preparing for whatever request she was about to make. “Yes?”  
  
“Fennec and I are going to a bar. There’s a mixer for people who needed a place to go for Christmas and we’d like it if you came with us.”  
  
He gestured to Grogu with a shake of his head, “you know I can’t.”  
  
“You can’t use the kid as an excuse forever, Din. It’s been too long since you came out with us,” she countered. “Don’t be one of those parents whose whole world begins and ends with their kid.”  
  
He scoffed, moving Grogu back into his arms as he started to move from the rocking chair. She made a fair point and tried as he might, Din knew he couldn’t deny it. Since Grogu crawled into his life eight months ago, he neglected his friends and the ‘basic social interactions every human required’. Truthfully, he never saw the need for it _before_ parental responsibilities took all of his free time. But in those years before, he allowed the whims of his friends to overpower his objections. They respected his wishes, most of the time. But as Koska followed him down the hall, an impending sense of doom accompanied her.  
  
“My life will stop revolving around my kid when he doesn’t depend on me for everything.”  
  
“You’ll find a way to make that forever. One little night away isn’t going to shatter the life you built for him,” she contested.  
  
Even Koska’s apt arguments couldn’t contend with a more pressing matter though. “Who is going to stay with Grogu, pray tell?”  
  
“Peli is here, she’ll keep an eye out on Grogu. You’re coming with us. There is very little you can say to change my mind.”  
  
“ _Peli_ has been asleep for an hour. With the amount she drank, it’ll be a miracle if she’s up before New Year's. How is she going to watch him?” Din asked, transferring to Grogu to one arm as he opened the door to his son’s bedroom.  
  
Grogu’s head rolled, nestled in the curve of his neck. His nose pressed against Din’s skin, almost mirroring the little _kunik_ his son adored. Din sighed, turning his head just enough to press a little kiss to the kid’s temple in return. If Koska would relent, he’d tiptoe back to his own room and spend the rest of the night nestled just the two of them. Entertaining everyone had only been worthwhile because Grogu woke up that morning to more presents than Din could count, Greef dressed up in a silly Santa costume in a way that made his son’s eyes sparkle, and the bright smile Grogu wore all day. Their first Christmas together proved memorable, at least for him. The child development books all suggested Grogu would remember very little, but there was a chance he’d form attachments to some of the gifts— the little frog plush Din bought on a whim already proving to be a favorite. Koska currently carried it for him, ready to place it at the foot of Grogu’s bed for the night.  
  
The sacrifice of interrupting their quiet haven was always worth it for Grogu’s sake, but now, Din was starting to reconsider the concept of _friends_. He almost missed what she added as he made his way into Grogu’s bedroom, too busy trying to formulate an appropriate excuse.  
  
“Well, Boba said he’d stick around too until you got back. He stopped drinking at noon, so he’ll be awake and alert,” she chimed, the giddiness buzzing around Din’s ears like a little fly. His annoyance crept down his spine and he shivered in response, trying his best not to roll his eyes at her or kick her out of the house himself.  
  
“What do you mean _Boba agreed to stay with the kid_?” Din grumbled, tucking Grogu under his dark blue astronaut blanket. He refused to look Koska in the eye, too focused on turning on the crescent moon night lamp next to his son’s bed. Little stars twinkled on the wall behind it, a comfort whenever his son woke up in the middle of the night. The nightmares improved in recent months, but it was still crushing anytime work required a night shift. It was the best he could do on the nights he simply couldn’t be here. The single’s mixer downtown shouldn’t be one of those times. Fennec and Koska had no intention of trying to play matchmaker and they didn’t need him to be their bodyguard. So whatever thrill they got from ripping him out of his safety bubble was beyond him.  
  
With an irritated sigh at the lack of an answer, he repeated, “Boba Fett agreed to babysit? I have a hard time believing that.”  
  
“Well, he said yes with persuasion,” she replied.  
  
“What persuasion?”  
  
“I told him he would be allowed to take the Razor Crest out. You know how much he loves that bike.”  
  
“I didn’t agree to that.” 

Her lips curved, hands rested on her hips when he finally looked at her. Whatever cross look he wore wasn’t enough to dissuade her plan, not with Fennec somewhere probably already on the phone arranging an Uber. She tilted her head out the door, trying to coax him from the room. Certainly, her tenacity about the additional evening plans knew no end. “Din, the kid is already asleep. You’ll be back before he wakes up and if he really needs something, Boba is just down the hall. You’re coming if I have to carry you over my shoulder.” 

“I will sit at the bar and supervise the two of you. We don’t need a repeat of last month,” he answered, pressing one last goodnight kiss to his son’s forehead. The phone call from the station after an unruly bar fight had meant cutting his shift short and Peli spending an extra long evening babysitting. They’d always managed to get themselves into more trouble than they were worth, but Fennec and Koska usually meant well.  
  
To make matters worse, he’d failed to get anyone an adequate Christmas gift in exchange for all they’d done for Grogu. Grinning and bearing the evening’s activities was the least he could do.  
  
He finally stood up again, taking one last fleeting look at his sleeping son. Grogu’s curls fell over his forehead, his little eyes closed tightly and unannoyed by the hairs caressing his brow. His lips parted, just a little, chest rising and falling with little breaths. He was peacefully settled and Din hoped it would stay that way. Conventional parenting methods didn’t seem Boba’s style, and Din didn’t trust any alternative methods the man would try to lull his son back to sleep. 

“You can take the Crest out if you’re not drinking. It might help you smile,” she suggested, punching his shoulder lightly as he passed. “Don’t spoil the mood before we get there.   
  
“If I’m spoiling your mood, it’s not too late to let me out of the obligation,” he huffed.  
  
“You’re going to have to try a lot harder for that,” Koska replied.  
  
Din stopped in his room, trading the comfortable checkered pajamas for dark jeans and a simple, charcoal long sleeve. The ensemble accented well with his worn leather jacket, a needed accessory to combat the mild San Antonio winter. It was always enough to keep the wind from nipping at his arms when he drove the Crest at night and suited him well as a layer of armor. Before, it always left him invincible, enabled him to command any room he entered. It reinforced a vision of himself, communicated by his essence silently. Now, if the bags under his eyes were any indicator, he was a different man entirely. Hopefully, no one would pick up on the softness at his edges and strike a conversation. This was all a matter of pleasing his friends, nothing else. He’d shut down any other unnecessary pleasantries, reinforce his steel walls, and try to enjoy a drink or two. Before midnight, he’d be back home, asleep in bed. 

Koska kept turning her head as they made their way down the hall as if there was anywhere in the two bedroom-apartment he could hide. Going back into Grogu’s room meant risking waking the kid when he’d had too much fun for one day. Hiding under the sink meant bending and breaking his back. Neither made viable long term options.  
  
Climbing into the air vent asked for more stealth than he was currently allowed with Koska stepping on his heel. He raised his hands, before his arms fell behind his back, wrists pressed together. “You’re not anyone’s prisoner, Din.”  
  
“It feels that way.”  
  
“You’re very dramatic,” she teased. “But save it for make-believe with Grogu. I’d hate to spend all your creativity right now.”  
  
Finally, they reached the living room where Fennec and Boba waited. The older man reclined on the chair Din had been kicked from only a few minutes ago, flipping through pages of the book Din gifted, while Fennec tracked the pending Uber on her phone. 

“It’s a themed gathering,” Fennec said, barely glancing up at him. He hadn’t noticed the matching plaids she and Koska wore, tucked into dark blue jeans with a ridiculously large belt buckle, until she spoke up to correct his wardrobe. Din’s shoulders fell, already regretting the decision. Their favored honky-tonk dive bar, _of all places_ , was the last one he wanted to spend the rest of his Christmas. He might happily re-enlist if offered the choice between the two. 

He turned his head to look at Koska, eyes narrowed. “I didn’t agree to that either.” 

“You didn’t even hear what it is,” Koska said. 

“Nor do I need to. This will pass entry requirements or I’ll turn home.”  
  
“At least put the bandana on, it’ll give your dark and dreary outfit a splash of color,” Fennec replied, smirking as she looked up at him. “I think hot pink would suit you best, but maybe Koska would give you the red one instead.”  
  
“I will break your phone if you try bringing that anywhere near me. I don’t much go for Texan stereotypes,” he answered, moving to the kitchen to grab the keys to the Crest. Koska did have one thing right. The opportunity to take his motorcycle out for an evening was very promising. The bike sat under a tarp in the garage, collecting dust while gears threatened to rust, waiting for a day he would drive it again. The four-door car he drove these days was more practical for a man with a child, but it didn’t stop the itch to take his preferred means of travel. 

The familiar weight of the keys in his palm as they headed for the front door was almost enough to keep Din from taking one last look at the closed door. It would be fine, he knew. Very little could go wrong under Boba’s watch, but the idea of leaving Grogu alone still left a pit in his stomach. Peli watched the kid on the nights he worked, but that took weeks to build up to.  
  
One last pointed look from Koska and Fennec as they loaded in the Uber kept him from turning around. He opened the garage, the bike waiting for him under the dusty tarp. He pulled it back in one swift movement, folded it, and stored it away on one of the shelves to await his return. One leg straddled over the side before he kicked up the foot stand. The motorcycle roared to life with the key in the ignition, ready to be taken out. Luckily, there was still enough gas to get him through the night. His hands wrapped around the handles, following after their departed car. 

Headlights painted the dark path in front of him as he zipped through what little traffic awaited on the main road. The smallest grin graced his face under the heavy helmet and he’d be lying if the little freedom wasn’t something he enjoyed. When Grogu was older, he knew he’d be able to take his son out on the bike with him. Even without Peli’s genuine concern and Cara’s berating instructions, he hadn’t needed to be told the kid would have to wait for a ride.  
  
The neon sign flickered, a few of the letters spelling out _Mos Pelgo Cantina_ in desperate need of new bulbs. The country guitar accenting the far side and the very helpful _Honky Tonk Grill_ at the bottom provided illuminated disclaimers, lighting up the face of the bar. The adjoined restaurant was closed up, dark windows contrasting against the flash of lights inside the lively dive. Music poured into the street whenever the door swung open, some old _cowboy_ tune that needed an accompanying cow to tie the image together. He patted his pockets, dismayed at the lack of headphones he found. His days were filled with classic rock covers, made to sound like soothing nursery rhymes— and the overplayed _Baby Shark_ Peli hooked Grogu on. He’d slide a quarter in the jukebox if the song was among the endless options, preferring anything to the western ballads. 

Koska waited for him at the bar closest to the front door. Tables and chairs were pushed to the sides, the available space transformed into an open dance floor. Fennec was propped up in the far corner, already engaged in a game of pool with some of the other patrons. The heavy, noisy beats electrified the room, making everything come alive around him. His eyes watered, trying to adjust to the pace. 

Taking the seat next to Koska, he noticed the singular bartender, somehow the only person currently behind the door. They kept their head down, moving between orders with lightning speed, but it wasn’t enough to keep up with the demand. Other caterers moved around the room, offering shots and little finger foods on silver trays. Din couldn’t see why someone else wasn’t helping to man the bar. A drink slid into his open palm, Koska having already ordered him a whiskey neat. 

“I’m glad to see you didn’t get lost,” she shouted over the music, leaning closer to him at the bar. “We would’ve had to send a search party out.” 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to hear for a week,” he replied, picking up the tumbler. The smooth golden liquid trickled down his throat, lemon and honey dazzling his taste buds. The brand of whiskey was new, far better, and less sweet than the bottle of Southern Comfort they used to split amongst themselves. Given the opportunity, he might inquire about the origins to pick up a bottle for himself. “I hope it’s worth my presence.” 

“It will be! Come dance with us!” 

“Not in your lifetime,” he laughed, stiffly. “Fatherhood hasn’t changed me that much, Koska.” 

Her hand tousled his hair, pulling it back to her chest as he flinched, reaching to rip it away. She turned to face inwardly at the bar, eyes fixated on the bottles carefully arranged on multiple shelves. Anyone else might assume she was something more angelic and innocent, for about five seconds. Even without her worming her way under his skin, he’d spot the difference in record time. “What can we do to change your mind?” 

He turned around, eyes skimming over the drink options. In the center were the options for tap beer and a few craft ciders Din didn’t recognize. He pointed at one of the options, moving closer to Koska to ensure she heard him. “All the alcohol content in that still wouldn’t be enough.” 

“At least come play a round of pool. They have darts too, we can put money on it.” 

“Keep your money in your pocket, Koska. Don’t embarrass yourself,” he said, before finishing the rest of his drink. Nursing it would’ve been the better option he knew, but the warm liquid was too delectable to avoid indulging. He’d order one of the coke selections when Koska wasn’t paying attention and pass it off for the night. Driving meant he couldn’t have very many anyway unless he wanted to sleep outside on the motorcycle tonight. That, more than anything, would keep him out of trouble for not participating. 

“I’ll make you a deal,” she answered, propping her elbow up on the counter. She folded her fingers, hand cupped just enough to allow him to press his palm against hers, “if you win, you can sit here all night and pout. If I win, you have to make an attempt to let your hair down.” 

“I like those odds.” 

He propped his own elbow up, arm extending forward until it reached hers. It wouldn’t be an easy victory, but it would be a victory nonetheless. The last time he lost to Cara was only the result of Grogu throwing Cheerios around the kitchen as he screeched at his high chair. He’d let go of her hand first, scooped up his son mid-tantrum, and had to grin and bear Cara’s insufferable smirk. Koska was strong, but the woman was smaller than their friend. This challenge would be much easier. 

His forearm strained met with equal force, determination aflame in Koska’s dark eyes. She focused on him, ignoring whenever her arm budged closer to the table. With a little flex up, she fought back, ever resilient. A couple of minutes started to pass, indicated by the end of the latest, repetitive country ballad. Din glanced down and didn’t miss the unsteady buckle of her arm. As anticipated, Koska proved the worthy opponent. He tilted his chin up, head held high as he positioned himself for victory. 

Or, at least that had been in his intention. A flash of red caught his peripheral vision, bright and contrasting to the paler burgundy sweater he wore. The scarf the man wore rested under his chin, covering some of his trimmed silver beard. The makeshift turtleneck was probably unbearably warm in the bar, but the man only adjusted it so the untucked tail rested on his back. Perfectly combed hair further accented the way the man had tailored his appearance, little inconsistencies breaking from the normal aesthetic around them. Din couldn’t mistake the way the other man’s hip popped when he finally stood still, or the Wrangler jeans though. Regardless of the new approach to western fashion, it was all it was. He really shouldn’t be this entranced by it. But the second, previously missing bartender, was impossible to look away from. His unblinking eyes matched the dryness spreading through his throat, leaving a little tickle that made him cough. 

His knuckles collided with the smooth wood of the bar table then, his observations shattered by the numbing feeling. Koska cheered, letting go of his hand. Somewhere, a faint laugh from someone else joined the mockery of his failure. No, not someone, Din recognized. The new bartender tried to hide by twisting his body towards one of the other patrons, but his side-eye kept landing on him and Koska. Heat flushed his cheeks, fury seizing him then. He wanted to storm out, but an agreement had been struck. Din would fulfill his end of it, even if it killed him. Instead, he looked down at his hand finally, still abandoned on the table as it cemented his defeat. It peered back at him, almost as though it demanded an answer for the distraction. 

Din really wished he didn’t have one. 

“What will it be, Djarin? Pool? Darts? I’m sure there is a pack of cards around here somewhere.” 

“I’ll go meet you at the pool table in a minute,” he said, his voice metallic in an attempt to mask his surfacing flustered state. Maybe Koska didn’t catch him staring. _Hopefully_ the bartender hadn’t either. “I’m going to have another drink.” 

She wiggled her eyebrows and Din’s foot planted firmly on the ground, one hand gripped around the edge of the bar. _Uno, dos, tres,_ he breathed, knowing he would be dragged back inside if he attempted to leave the bar. With one last elated grin, Koska left him to join Fennec in the far corner. 

Which only left him with the second bartender. 

Straightening his back, Din waved the man over. His squared shoulders and flat face concealed what existed mere moments ago, summoning dignity to salvage the rest of his integrity. 

“What can I do you for?” The bartender asked, leaning further over the bar than he needed to. From the small distance, Din noticed the little lines at the corner of rich hazel eyes, another box checked in the man’s channeling of some damned western Casanova. 

“My friend ordered my drink earlier. I don’t know what it was,” he answered, a more coherent answer failing him. He bit the inside of his cheek, pushing back the scowl at his regular order escaping him. If he looked away for more than two seconds, he might be able to think clearly again— the little shine in the man’s eyes asking for too much of Din’s focus. 

“Well, you can wait until Quay gets back if you want the same thing—” the man paused, bending down to reach into one of the hidden shelves behind the counter “—or we have this one here.” 

The illuminated blue bottle matched the glowing neon colors displayed proudly throughout the bar in various decorations and light fixtures. The liquid itself was a little duller, reflecting the color cast inside by the bottle. Din nodded, “that’s fine.” 

“So,” the man hummed as he poured the drink, the little sing-song hint to his voice another reason why Din knew he needed to leave, “what brings you here?” 

He pointed to the corner where Fennec and Koska were, “my friends decided I wasn’t allowed to sit at home.” 

Din picked up the new tumbler, inspecting the blue liquid closer up. Specks of glitter pooled in the drink, and he began to reconsider the decision. All the same, he took the leather wallet from his pocket, ready to hand over his card. The bartender waved him off and a small stone settled in Din’s stomach. “It’s on the house,” the man said, putting the bottle away. “What’s your name?” 

“I have a kid.” 

“You wanna try that one again? I’m pretty sure that ain’t a name.” He folded his arms over his chest, the unimpressed tilt of his head the man’s best effort at a playful scolding. 

Din had no obligation to answer, he knew, and the tap of the man’s foot only furthered his irritation. 

So, instead, he said, “shouldn’t you have a name tag? I should be the one concerned with yours.” 

“Cobb,” the bartender replied, extending his hand. “‘nd since you seem to be missin’ all your manners, I’ll hafta call you Mando.” 

Din furrowed his eyebrows, nose scrunched, “ _Mando?_ ”

“That was you who came in on the Razor Crest. I saw ya park from the storage room window. Dropped a spotchka bottle, had to tidy it up before I came back out.” 

“If you insist on using a name, Mando is fine,” Din finished, finally taking a sip of the blue liquid. He ignored the implications of Cobb’s admission, already trying to starve his own immediate spark towards the man. The drink helped, as sharp hints of liquorice burned against his tongue, but softened as the afternotes added to the taste. 

Quay walked back through, the additional presence of a third person breaking the haze of just him and Cobb. Life could at least return to normal now, the beginnings of whatever transpired here ready to crumble. But Cobb only nodded at his partner, before turning back to Din. “I heard your friend say you owed them a game. Reckon I can get you out of the obligation?” 

“You did hear me say I have a kid?” 

Cobb glanced around, taking his time to check each corner of the bar. “The kid ain’t here, right? We can’t be havin’ children in here. The restaurant is for families, but I could lose my liquor license.” 

“What kind of father do you think I am?” 

“Clearly not the kind who would bring their kid to a bar. So, I don’t see the harm in a _friendly_ game of darts,” 

“Me tinca que esto no va a funcionar,” he grumbled, and Cobb pricked his head up at the expression, intrigued. He didn’t ask for an explanation though, instead only clearing the bar area Din occupied, as though he already knew the correct option was to disagree. It wouldn’t work though, this little game they engaged themselves in. Din knew better than to toe this particular line. He didn’t _want_ to get involved either. Tonight was about shutting Koska and Fennec up for the next twelve months, his social quota filled. Alluring bartenders didn’t change those plans. 

The remaining fact was Din owed Koska the pleasure of seeing him engaging with the world. If he didn’t take Cobb up on his offer, she’d take the man’s place— and Din wasn’t ready to part ways. “Look, huaso. One game. _501_. I’ll put thirty dollars on you walking away without a tip.” 

He came around the bar, waiting for Din to follow him towards one of the empty dartboards. “And I’ll put up my tip against you tellin’ me your name, Mando.” 

“You have a deal.” 

He dismissed the thumbs up Koska gave him as they passed her, grateful for Fennec’s ignorance over his new companion. His friends would never let him hear the end of tonight and he’d need to search for every viable objection Google offered. Ignoring them, he took his darts from Cobb, taking a coin out of his pocket to flip.

“Heads or tails?” 

“Tails,” Cobb picked, turning the darts between his fingers. 

Din flipped and nodded. “You go first.” 

It was a momentary disadvantage to throw second, but he would have a chance to make up the difference as the game dragged on. As a bartender, Cobb probably had ample time to practice darts; but it wasn’t enough cause to worry Din. He played well, even if out of practice. The key lied in breaking the odd number first and moving down in carefully calculated intervals to avoid breaking zero. 

“How old’s your kid then,” Cobb asked, preparing his stance. 

“Almost two.” 

“A little tyke then.” 

“Only on certain days,” Din defended. There was no need, he knew there was truth to it. Ever since Grogu started to crawl, he had a knack for getting himself into small amounts of trouble. As he grew, with a limited vocabulary and better mobility, ever-improving every day, things only turned towards a new type of chaos. If he were honest, Grogu managed to take after him in that regard. 

“Not often we get a single dad runnin’ the show. I admire that.” Cobb looked away from him then, the first dart hitting the board. Another two followed, his score already dropping but still odd. As he passed Din, moving out of the way, he grinned. Under the softer light of the gaming area, Din noticed the little grooves and scars peppered around Cobb’s face, the last of the summer sun’s kisses still darkening his skin. “You look like you’re memorizing a paintin’.” 

“Trying to decipher your dart tactics,” Din countered, moving forward to take his turn. 

“If you wanna call it that, Mando. If you asked nicely, I might just tell ya. I didn’t think you’d need help with your battle plan.” 

“I don’t,” Din said, his first shot breaking the odd number. The next two darts followed, not enough to match Cobb’s score but only leaving a small margin. 

“I’d hate to take advantage if you do. Needs to be an even game. I’d be happy to give you a lesson,” came Cobb’s answer as he rubbed his hand under his chin. 

“You’re coming on a little strong when I—”

“Need to step aside and let me have my next turn?” Cobb supplied, his hand wrapped around Din’s shoulder as he encouraged another step back. “I’m fine to let you lose, too.” 

This time, Din couldn’t focus on the man as he took his turn. His head turned, eyes glancing down at the place Cobb’s hand momentarily rested. His imagination surely envisioned the little stroke against his collarbone, now seemingly imprinted on Din’s skin from over his shirt. 

It wouldn’t be allowed to stay. 

A one night break. That was all he’d promised Koska and Fennec, all he allowed himself to ever consider. He didn’t need it anyway, whatever _it_ was. The little flaps of butterfly wings were childish, Texas nights under the stars meant too many bugs. All the things everyone around him invested in never appealed to him. 

_But this sudden pull to Cobb—_

“You talk a lot while maintaining an odd number,” Din said. “I don’t know what strategy they taught you in barkeep school, but you should reconsider.” 

Without looking at him, Cobb laughed and replied, “if you don’t like my game, come show me where to aim, Mando.” 

The banter subsided as the pace of the game picked up. Exchanged looks or near brushes of skin replaced words. One particular time, Din had to work particularly hard to calm the heavy pounding of his heart that followed when Cobb leaned back on him halfway through the game. The man had waved his hands innocently, adding some passing comment about needing a little break. A hint of sadness mixed with the ceaseless mischief usually present, as though Din pulling away was part of some bigger offense. 

But Din knew the importance of his boundaries. He needed to maintain them, above all else. 

“It’s been a good night,” he thanked, moving away after his latest turn. 

“I should be thankin’ you. Quay would’ve made me do dishes all night. They're not fond of ‘em, but neither am I.” 

Cobb proved an excellent shot so far. Despite his inability to better his odds, Din knew achieving a final _1_ wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. His own remaining _16_ points were admirable, but losing the coin toss earlier left the game to the other man to determine. Din was never one to leave odds stacked against him, though. As Cobb prepared his final stance, one foot planted in front of the other and arm primed to throw, Din’s hand grazed the man’s side, applying a small amount of pressure to his ribs. He cocked his head, just enough for a phantom touch of his lips just under Cobb’s ear, as he mumbled, “don’t miss.” 

He pulled away, but the little tremors in Cobb’s stance remained. Even with the deep breaths trying to center himself, Din knew the game was already won. He didn’t need to hear the curse strung from the other man’s mouth or where the last dart landed after the thud. Instead, Din took a place standing against the wall, giving a little wave to Koska to signal he’d soon be leaving. 

“Thank you for ensuring I didn’t spend any money tonight. My son’s Christmas was expensive,” he said, bordering on giddy as Cobb moved to stand next to him. 

“Don’t get too excited Mando, I let you win. I know how your people get when you lose,” Cobb responded. Din turned his head, ignoring the pale pink blush in the man’s cheeks. The third layer of red was undeniably his favorite part of Cobb’s outfit, the personal satisfaction of causing it himself only making Din more fond of it. 

“My people?” 

“Motorcyclists always have the tempers. One broke our last pool table, nearly put ‘im through a wall tryin’ to throw ‘im out.” 

Din rolled his eyes, but the smile didn’t fall from his face. “I’m not in a bike gang.” 

“Well, that’s good to hear. Not much of a life for someone with such pretty brown eyes.” 

Cobb’s arm brushed his then, and a tingling rush flooded through the layers of clothes he wore. Somehow, the vibrations were foreign and similar, like the words to an old forgotten song. If he leaned into it, the lyrics might play again, the memory formulating until it solidified into something tangible. The newness of it would introduce an additional thrill, encapsulating the moment. That was only if such indulgences were allowed. 

Instead, Din only turned out his hand, offering a celebratory handshake instead. Cobb took a moment to grip his hand, skin slowly gliding over skin. One of the bartender’s knuckles pressed against the curve of his wrist, stroking against the vein. _Uno. Dos_. _Tres. Cuatro_ , Din counted, his pulse slowed against Cobb’s touch. A knot formed Din’s throat as he pulled his hand away, shoving it deep into his pocket. 

“Don’t be a stranger,” Cobb said, turning back towards the bar. “You’re welcome here anytime for a rematch, Mando.” 

He nodded, watching as Cobb walked away to pick up his work. Din reached for his phone, the time a reminder he needed to be home to get any rest. A part of him knew it would be a long night, his mind coming back to the bar instead of counting sheep.


	2. Spilt Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little content warning for mentions of food. Not detailed, but items named.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely reviews & the kudos! I'm sorry this chapter was a little delayed. I wanted to finish my university term papers before I help my girlfriend move, and then my arthritis was flaring up and I had to take a few days off writing. 
> 
> I should be done with chapter 3 before the middle of the week, though! It's already started. In the meantime, I hope you continue to enjoy this cheesy chapter. I keep telling my friends that despite all my more serious ideas I want to write, sometimes I'm just content to be Nicholas Sparks/Hallmark but for the gays. 
> 
> Happy Sunday and Happy New Year.  
> Myra x

Leaving the bar without giving a _proper_ goodbye to Koska and Fennec was always going to be met with consequences. Din had overlooked the fact in favor of leaving after the game of darts, his judgment already unexpectedly clouded. He’d been able to focus on the road when he needed to drive but seemed to catch every light between _Mos Pelgo_ and home. Those little pauses were just enough to revive the memory of Cobb’s friendly smile he’d unwittingly spent most of the night stealing glances at as they worked through the various rounds. Pressed against the protective layer of his helmet had been a little grin, accelerated beats in his chest always adding to the unexpected fondness. _  
__  
__Don’t be a stranger_ , Cobb had offered as his final goodbye, the chosen nickname strung to the end of his sentence before he returned to work. The personal addition spoke of more than just southern manners, and he’d sighed, as his hands had gripped the handles of the motorcycle tighter. Din’s own bolder actions kept trying to come back, the scratch of thin hairs so very close to his lips, but time always seemed to work in his favor as green forced him to focus on driving once more. 

By the time he’d gotten home, his thoughts had fallen onto the multiple tasks that comprised his nightly routine. Boba was exactly where he’d left him, while Peli had rolled onto her stomach, still fast asleep on his sofa. He and Boba had exchanged a few hushed words, his offer to pull out the extra air mattress turned down as his friend had opted to return home. He’d thrown another blanket over Peli, turned the lights off, and ensured the doors were locked before walking down the hall. Standing in the dark, he had cracked open the door to Grogu’s room. Much like Peli, it had seemed nothing would wake his son tonight. Din had watched him dream for a few minutes, as his own eyelids had started to heavy with the need for sleep. He had reached his room and quickly worked through changing his clothes and using the ‘fresher. With the last of his nightly routine completed, he’d promptly let himself drift.  
  
Only to wake up with seven texts and two voicemails from Koska.  
  
He blinked, rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes as he tried to make sense of the string of emojis comprising the first four messages. The last two only expressed her hope he’d made it home safely and her confirmation they had done so as well. The one sitting in the middle made him sink into his bed, debating deleting the voicemails without listening to them.  
  
**Koska:**  
‘*Your* cowboy is really nice.’ **  
** **  
** The sting of regret washed over him as he read it again, wishing he’d given more consideration to his options before he left the bar. He had ample time to tell his friends goodbye, but not enough will to do anything other than head for an exit. Feverous vengeance meant Koska had spent the night cozying up to the bartender — innocent enough in nature, but deceptively so.  
  
It shouldn’t have meant anything, Din knew. But the problem was exactly as Koska implied. _The cowboy was really nice._ His thoughts skirted over the possession Koska implied, though the faint whispering of memories were already trying to find him again. Din pushed them down, twisting his head against the pillow to try and find a distraction. It didn’t work, no matter how hard he tried; though, perhaps he wasn’t really putting in any effort.  
The dart game. Their conversations, no matter how short. He wanted to indulge in all of it. He might have convinced himself to stay longer if not for the need to get the Crest home. For once, his parental concerns fell second to his social atmosphere, almost sweet evidence of the immediate connection with Cobb.  
  
He almost wished they had. If he had taken an Uber with everyone else —  
  
His finger swiped over the play button, curiosity allowed to get the better of him. The static on the other end of the line mixed with the beat of the music and the faint sounds of Koska’s voice was too muted for him to hear. The message cut and the second started, the background noise missing this time.  
  
“ _Should’ve waited until we stepped outside. You ran off on us! Luckily,_ Cobbbbbb _was nice enough to let us know you left. Think you’ll see him again? He said he’s working extra this week, you could easily drop byyyyy. I like that one, Din_ ”  
  
He did too if he were honest. Miles away from the bar, the morning after their flirtatious game, it was an easy truth Din allowed himself to admit. With such limited time on his hands, between work and raising Grogu, Din’s ability to decipher who was worth his time had improved tenfold. Cobb, for all his southern bravado, might be the next in the line of people he made a space for in his life. Only, it wasn’t friendship he had on his mind. If it were that simple, he might have already started to look for an excuse to invite Koska back to _Mos Pelgo_ another day that week.  
  
The way his cheeks ached, the pools of heat nestled along his cheekbones, was confirmation of everything that _could_ begin, if he let himself reach that far.  
  
Instead, he left his phone abandoned on the nightstand, preparing for the morning instead. Undoubtedly, Peli and Grogu were still both asleep, which gave him enough time to shower without any interruptions.  
  
Soft cooing greeted him after he turned the water off, followed almost immediately by footsteps running down the other end of the hall. Din grabbed the first clothes he found, ready to follow Grogu into the living room. Their normal cycle meant his son would be looking for him, to only find the sleeping Peli still on their sofa. He hadn’t heard her since he woke up, nor received any messages to let him know she too had left. Din was content to let her sleep, knowing better than to try and wake her himself. At least Grogu would get a warm reception if he started to tug and paw at her. Without a warm cup of coffee in his hand, Din counted on her throwing one of the couch pillows at his head for trying the same tactics.  
  
In the time it took him to finish his morning routine, an unanticipated scene already awaited him in the living room. Grogu had managed to reach under the Christmas tree to access the box of markers Cara included in his new coloring set. The carelessly ripped open box was thrown behind his son, scattered markers sitting in various positions on the carpet. One hand balanced on the arm of the sofa, helping Grogu to maintain his balance as he reached. The dark blue was currently situated in his son’s hand, the canvas on the far side of Peli’s right cheek. The vantage point of the living room entrance enabled him to see a swirl of green already added, drawn closer to her nose. He rushed forward, picking Grogu up before more blue could be added.  
  
“No,” he said sternly, pointing one finger. “We don’t draw on people.” Grogu twisted his head, the marker dropped into Din’s opened palm. Thankfully, the washable ink would be an easy fix and the walls hadn’t been his target. All the same, the little tattoo graced Peli’s skin, bright and bold for now.  
  
Peli grumbled incoherent noises as Din put Grogu back on the ground, looking for the marker lid. Her hand slowly came up to trace the side of her face, smearing the wet ink. “Hmm, is that what the little womp rat was doin’?”  
  
“So it would seem.”  
  
“Well, you’d tell me if it looked bad, right?” She asked, sitting up on the sofa. Once situated, she scooped Grogu up, tapping his nose. The kid squealed with a little laugh, not yet awake enough for any words. His son planted his hands on either side of Peli’s face, giggling when she asked, “did you make me look real pretty? I think your daddy’s a little jealous.”  
  
“Don’t encourage him, Peli,” he sighed, taking the markers with him into the kitchen. He unlocked one of the drawers, placing them in there with the various other crayons and pencils already waiting. “Coffee?”  
  
“Black, two sugars. Sorry for falling asleep on ya last night, I’ll be right out of your hair.”  
  
“No need, you were the designated babysitter.” She turned her head, a scolding expression already starting to fold over her face. Din shook his head, taking two coffee pods out of the cabinet, “Fennec and Koska left Boba here, but somehow expected me to believe you were coherent.”  
  
“Well, where did y’all go last night?”  
  
" _Mos Pelgo_.”  
  
“And here I thought you hated that place. Have a nice time?”  
  
Steam from the Keurig and Grogu’s bubbly laughter at whatever Peli was doing allowed Din a moment to decide on an answer. Peli never shied away from her opinions and it would take a matter of minutes for her to start asking the wrong questions. He already had Koska to worry about, his infuriating friend undoubtedly the reason his phone vibrated in his back pocket. But the tickling whisper chatted away, little reminders of the truth.  
  
“Yes,” Din settled on, bringing the cups of coffee with him back to the sofa. After he sat down, Grogu climbed off of Peli’s lap and made his way over to him.  
  
“Papá,” he babbled, before pointing repeatedly to his stomach.  
  
“Got anythin’ to eat? I can cook somethin’ up,'' Peli offered, hands wrapped around her cup of coffee.  
  
“You don’t need to do that. I can take care of it.”  
  
“Don’t be so stubborn about it all the time. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve cooked for ya, won’t be the last.”  
  
“Papaaaaa,” Grogu whined again, this time tugging on Din’s sleeve. He placed the cup down, moving Grogu to his hip as he went back into the walk-in pantry.   
  
The fridge was empty, most of the ingredients used for dinners the last two nights. A couple of eggs made a disappointing meal with the company over. There was enough cereal for only one of them, the cheerios only appetizing to his son anyway. Perhaps that explained the new thought that occurred to him, as he offered a few of the cheerios for Grogu to snack on. Setting his son on the floor, Din checked his phone for confirmation. “I need to go to the store. Want to join us for breakfast first?”  
  
  
_Mos Pelgo_ ’s restaraunt offered more permanent seating in the form of various booths boxing in the unfixed tables and chairs. A few other families sat at scattered tables, with two or three members of waitstaff moving between them. Grogu and Peli chatted away as his eyes scanned for the familiar face, deflating at his inability to think the matter through. Judging one drunk statement from Koska proved a mistake and in honesty, he should have known better. The cantina and restaurant didn’t necessarily have the same staff. The promising empty host both would have served as an excuse to leave, claiming impatience with the morning rush. But Peli had already picked up one of the menus and passed a packet of crayons for Grogu to fidget with while they waited.  
  
“Quite the impression this place made,” Peli hummed, pushing up on her toes, rocking with Grogu.  
  
“It’s close to the grocery store,” he explained, trying to alert one of the waitstaff to their presence. One nodded at him, holding up a finger to ensure they would be right over. Din shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes fixed on one of the antler decorations on the far wall.  
  
“You and I have different definitions of _close_ .”  
  
“Sorry for the wait, folks, I’ll be happy to take you over to a table,” came a familiar voice. To their left, Cobb stepped through the door painted with _Employee Entrance Only_ in black. He paused in his step when his eyes fell on Din, giving him a familiar nod. “Welcome back, Mando. Didn’t expect you back so soon.”  
  
“I didn’t know you’d be here.”  
  
“But hopin’, I’m sure,” Cobb replied with a wink as he moved around them, taking a moment to write a note on the host book. “We’re short-staffed with the holiday, gave who wanted it a couple paid days off. Gotta pick up the work for ‘em.”  
  
“Well, I’m sure that’s appreciated,” Peli purred, and Din’s neck nearly snapped as he turned to look at her. Her grin spread from ear to ear, her eyes drifting to the corners as she nodded her head at Cobb. Her mouth mimicked an inquisitive, _“Mando_?” he quickly ignored. 

Grogu’s gurgling added little annoyed sounds, unsatisfied with the small portion of cheerios Din offered him earlier. He picked his son out of Peli’s arms, tapping his nose to try and pacify him. When he looked back at Cobb, the man was watching him just as intently. He smiled, shaking the tip of Grogu’s shoe. Despite the previous irritation, Grogu peeked down to observe Cobb’s hand, the fuss momentarily subdued. “This little fella sounds like he needs some food. Right this way and I’ll get a couple of drinks brought out while ya make some decisions.”  
  
With two coffees and a child’s chocolate milk brought back, Cobb produced a memo pad to record their orders. The heavy weight of Peli’s gaze kept moving between the two of them, even though she remained silent while Cobb made suggestions. Din tried to focus on the morning specials, but his attention scrambled between monitoring Grogu with his straw and the charming man standing in front of them. Only Peli nudging him with her foot told Din a question had been asked. “He’ll take a pancake and some eggs.”  
  
“I’ll bring a couple pieces of fruit, little one needs to grow big and strong,” Cobb added. “And what would you like?”  
  
“Just eggs and a few pieces of bacon.”  
  
“Now that’s real borin’, bit of an insult. I’ll bring you out something better, Mando.” Before Din could object, Cobb had already left for the kitchen. The sly curve of Peli’s smile and raise of her eyebrows made him lean forward, wiping a line of milk from Grogu’s face to delay the inevitable.  
  


“I see this really had nothing to do with taking us out for breakfast, _Mando_ ,” Peli badgered, a sharp fingernail pressed between two of his fingers.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Cobb works here, he’s just doing his job.”  
  
“The man walked through that door lookin’ like he was about to fall face first. Now, he’s got a little spring in his step. Don’t think I missed it.”  
  
“He’s just a new friend.”  
  
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days? My wife was a good friend, my very best for thirty years,” she replied, lifting the coffee mug to hide the smug smile glued to her face. “Though, that may be worse coming from you. We both know you don’t make friends.”  
  
“What do you call yourself then?” He asked as he fell back against his seat. Grogu dropped one of the crayons next to his hand, tapping on the coloring page with his own. Din obediently picked it up, drawing swirls in one of the open corners. This had been a stupid idea, even if he got what he wanted from it. Allowing yet another of his circle to see his clear attraction to Cobb would be the only word in their group chat until Boba or Bo Katan were willing to force a subject change.  
  
“According to the shirt you got me, Abuela. Now, are you going to tell me more about the cowboy or do I have to find out on my own?”  
  
“There isn’t anything to tell. We played darts last night and then I came back to relieve Boba from babysitting duty,” Din explained as he continued his corner of the drawing. Grogu stuck his hand out expectedly, clasping his fingers as he eyeballed the blue one Din held. He paused, holding it out towards him. “Say ‘please’,” he instructed.  
  
“Pw... pw… pe... pees,” Grogu stammered, cheering when Din handed over the desired object. He ran a hand over his son’s hair, adding little compliments before he sat back against the booth again. Grogu was careful to keep his lines on the paper, a great improvement from drawing on Peli’s face this morning.  
  
Din finally picked up his own cup of coffee, before turning to look at Peli. “I have my hands full.”  
  
“Don’t try that one on me. You can find time to take the cowboy out. I’d even keep Grogu for the night if you wanted to bring him back home.”  
  
“You’re only willing to volunteer so you can convince him cats are better than dogs.” She rolled her eyes at the mention of her favored pets. The last time he let Peli take Grogu home while he finished working had his sun babbling about the four calicos, pointing at pictures of similar ones on the television or whenever they passed one on a walk. It almost made him pout, missing the days his son tried to pull on one of their tails. Grogu never quite got there, but the momentarily shared disdain was enough to convince him he’d never need to worry about Grogu asking for one to take home.  
  
“Well, I can’t help that. But I’ll keep ‘em cooped up, I know you barely tolerate mine.”  
  
Before the conversation could continue, Cobb returned with a serving tray in hand and a stand tucked under his arm. He placed the stand down first, before setting the food down on top of it. Already, Grogu’s food had already been cut into edible, child-sized pieces. Grogu pushed his crayons away, reaching for one of the pieces with his hand before Din could take the plastic fork out for him. “Now, little guy we don’t want you to make a mess,” Cobb said, catching Grogu’s attention with a second cup of chocolate milk. The kid’s eyes widened, gushing happily as Cobb moved it in front of him, slowly allowing him to take it.  
  
“Thank you. He has gotten better with waiting for the fork, but I waited too long to feed him this morning.”  
  
“Happy to help, Mando.” He turned back to the tray, placing Peli’s egg skillet and toast down in front of her. As promised, an upgrade was made from the simple request Din asked for. Scrambled eggs and bacon accompanied a few buttermilk biscuits, little jars boasting restaurant made jam situated on the sides. “Made the strawberry one myself, it’s a favorite so that's the last of our batch from the summer,” Cobb stated.  
  
“Quite the cook, and the bartender,” Peli commended between bites.  
  
“Thank ya, ma’am. I hope you folks enjoy your meal.”  
  
“Care to join us?” The request surprised Din, given without a moment’s hesitation. From the corner of his eye, he saw Peli focus on a bit of runny yolk, masking the twitch of her lip and her hand that probably wanted to pat him on the back. He bit the tip of his tongue, waving his hand apologetically. “If you’re not too busy. The breakfast rush seems to be over.”   
  
“I’d hate to impose.”  
  
“We’d be happy to have you.”  
  
“Then don’t mind if I do,” Cobb replied, as he and Peli made room at the table. Din pushed the basket of biscuits between them, placing the butterknife closer to Cobb when he finished adding jam to his own. “I’m Cobb Vanth, the usual bartender and co-owner of _Mos Pelgo_ ,” he introduced himself, extending a hand to Peli.  
  
“Peli.”  
  
“Mighty fine to meet you.” As Cobb turned towards Grogu, Din choked on the bite of food he’d just taken. He reached for the cup in front of him, helping to clear his throat, while Cobb paused to look at him instead, offering a napkin. “You alright?”  
  
Din nodded, setting his fork down for a moment. So far, only Peli and Greef ever looked at his son so intently, almost as though stars were hung in their eyes. It was easier to explain with them, their own busy lives having kept them from children and grandchildren of their own. But, Cobb devoted his full attention without any reason to. Grogu was picking at different pieces of pancake and eggs, satisfied with dragging the fork around rather than making sure every piece landed in his mouth.  
  
Maybe there was some truth to what Peli had been trying to say earlier. Maybe, it wasn’t so impossible to invite someone new into his life.  
  
“What’s your name, little guy?” Cobb’s voice nearly squeaked when he talked to Grogu, the pitch taking his son’s attention away from his plate. Grogu turned his head, blinking only once as they looked at each other. When he twisted to look at Din, his son wore a toothy little smile, blabbering to him.  
  
“Grogu,” Din said. “I think he likes you. He doesn’t always get this excited about new people.”  
  
“Well, I think I like him too. Already eatin’ all his food, though he might need a little help. May I?”  
  
“You don’t have to do that. I was going to help him with the fork once I finished a few bites myself,” Din said, but Cobb was already tapping two fingers against Grogu’s closed hand.  
  
“Nonsense, you enjoy your food. I’m happy to help.” He placed his awaiting palm under Grogu’s hand, waiting until he placed the child’s fork in his hand. Cobb grinned when it was surrendered, picking up one of the cut pieces on the other end. Despite Grogu’s usual fussiness at being fed by anyone other than him, Din was pleasantly surprised to see only a momentary objection to the help.  
  
Able to enjoy the last of his food before it got cold, Din took notice of the continued conversation Grogu and Cobb had when his son stopped eating. Most of the pancake and all of the eggs were gone, a few of the grapes accepted as well. Somehow, Cobb had already slated a place for himself in their lives as he had always been there. Grogu seemed just as intrigued by Cobb as Din himself, and even better were the animated expressions the man gave his son. If ever an opportunity to date presented itself on a silver platter, now was Din’s moment to seize it.  
  
Only, Grogu’s hand swung a little too far as he laughed at the latest string of silly faces Cobb put on. It knocked against the half-finished cup of milk, knocking the lid off as it fell down hard on the tray. Milk splashed on both Grogu and Cobb, the man only reaching for a napkin while Grogu started to cry. “Dank farrik,” Din muttered, scooping up Grogu from his chair. “I’m sorry for the mess,” he apologized as he scrambled, looking for another unused napkin.  
  
“Happens all the time. Don’t normally end up with sticky milk on my jeans, but I think he missed my boots. Can’t complain too much,” Cobb dismissed, getting up from the table. “I’ll get this cleaned up.”  
  
“We should probably pay and go,” Din sighed, apologetically. Grogu started to still in his arms, face burrowed into his shoulder. His hand patted the back of his son’s head, continuing to coax the muffled cries away. “Still need to get a few things and take him home for a nap.”  
  
“Keep your wallet in your pocket, your money isn’t any good here,” Cobb countered. “Though, I’ll accept another game of darts. There’s a little New Year’s Eve hoedown if you can step away.”  
  
“A _hoedown_ ,” Din repeated, and he must have let his disgust coat his face because Cobb only laughed. “I don’t dance.”  
  
“Well, I do and I’d be happy to have an audience.”  
  
“If I can get away,” he promised. “Thank you. For the food.”  
  
“Anytime. Take care of the little guy. I hope I’ll see both of you again,” Cobb finished, working his way back to the kitchen to get something to clean. Yet again, Din found himself watching the man walk away. He rubbed little circles onto Grogu’s back, Cobb’s farewell lighting up his day as though his own personal ray of sunshine. Despite the miniature tantrum and the spilled milk, Cobb was still as intrigued with him as he was the night before. Though it would make Koska’s head swell, Din was tempted to pick up a thank you present for planting the idea in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and leaving little kudos and comments.


End file.
